


Kitten Kaboodle

by Witch_of_Hot_Cocoa



Series: Of Silver and Gold [2]
Category: Alpha and Omega - Patricia Briggs, BRIGGS Patricia - Works, Mercy Thompson Series - Patricia Briggs
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Kittens, PTSD, Panic Attacks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-20
Updated: 2018-01-20
Packaged: 2019-03-07 03:48:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,321
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13426158
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Witch_of_Hot_Cocoa/pseuds/Witch_of_Hot_Cocoa
Summary: Meara finds a kitten in the woods.





	Kitten Kaboodle

Meara peered down at the ball of black fluff, the closest thing to a frown on her wolfen face. The tiny little thing, a _kitten_ , mewled helplessly. Its eyes hadn’t even opened yet, it was so tiny and helpless. Kara came and crowded next to her, sniffing curiously.

The tiny, fragile kitten was definitely a newborn. Meara touched her nose to it; the poor thing was shivering, cold. The scent of the mother cat was old, maybe a day ago. If it had been that long, and the baby was this fresh, momma was gone for good.

Asil huffed in annoyance across from them, Sage lying patiently beside him. Their run had been interrupted by this tiny thing. He snapped his teeth at it; Meara put herself over the kitten, snarling.

Asil rolled his eyes, but backed off.

Kara made a curious sound, still peering at the kitten under Meara’s belly. Meara turned and touched Kara’s muzzle, before very carefully picking up the tiny kitten in her mouth. The helpless thing began to cry, but Meara had no other way to carry it. Asil whined in annoyance, but Meara ignored him and went back to the cars.

* * *

“Careful, it’s fragile. Don’t feed it too fast.” Meara said, coming back to the living room with a syringe of kitten milk. She put the tiny kitten in Kara’s hands. Kara looked fascinated, cradling the kitten against her chest as she held the little syringe for it. “Cats are usually terrified of us, aren't they? I haven't been able to pet a dog in forever.”

“They instinctively fear the dominant predator.” Asil droned from the couch. He had his head over the back of it, dramatically showing his annoyance. Sage snickered, sitting next to him with a cup of cocoa.

They’d gone straight to the town vet, once they’d managed to all Change and dress. The vet tech there had been eager to help Meara, the Marrok's mate and an Omega. After checking over the kitten for any wounds or parasites, she gave her a few weeks supply of kitten milk and a set of care instructions. They even booked the tiny thing’s first checkup.

“This one's barely a few days old. Maybe if we keep around it, then it won't be afraid of us.” Meara said. “It can stay here.”

“You don't actually believe Bran will agree to having a pest in his home?” Asil scoffed.

“I'm sure he won't mind having a _cat_ in _our_ home.” Meara snapped, but she was smiling. “I'll just have to make sure no one else tries to eat it.”

“Bran might, especially since he’s coming home from the summit of his alphas.” Asil mumbled. Sage laughed. “Oh, you spoil sport. Let the girls have their fun.”

Asil grumbled under his breath, rolling his eyes.

“Is it a boy or girl?” Kara asked. Meara shrugged, glancing at her phone. “You can’t tell until the third week or so.” She said. “We’ll have to feed it every two hours until about ten days, then three to four hours after that.”

“You know a lot about kittens.” Kara noted. Meara waved her phone with a smile. “I googled kitten care.”

“The internet.” Asil scoffed.

“Old man.” Meara spat back, leaning and smacking his knee. “We can go for a run tomorrow, you big baby. Bran doesn’t get back until Sunday anyways. We have a few days.”

“Are we going to have to _wake up_ to feed it?” Kara asked, realizing. Meara laughed.

* * *

Meara kept the kitten at night. Kara had school, and Meara didn’t sleep much at all when Bran was away as it was. Bad dreams had the unfortunate tendency to surface, and he wasn't around to help her bring her down from the panic.

She took the kitten to her and Bran’s room, toting the kitten milk up with her. She set up her laptop and made a little nest for the kitten. It began to cry when she set it down, smelling of fear and distress. Meara hesitated.

Meara went to Bran’s drawers and fished through his shirts. She grabbed the one that smelled strongest of him, and wrapped the kitten in it. “That’s daddy.” She murmured softly, smiling. The tiny kitten was instantly asleep, burrowed in Bran’s shirt. The scent, somehow, comforted the tiny thing.

Meara propped herself against the pillows with a smile. She understood. Bran’s scent comforted her, too.

* * *

When Bran came home, he was welcomed by the scent of pancakes, bacon and eggs, and cat. He paused. Cat? Kitten, he corrected. He left his bag by the door, frowning.

Meara was in the kitchen, apron and everything, plating pancakes and cooking bacon. She’d dressed up, curled her long hair into a ponytail and put on pearls. A knee length, royal blue dress that flared with a crinoline underskirt, accentuating her waist. He remembered that one; she’d recently had a thing for fifties fashion, finding that the styles looked rather good on her large bust and wide hips. This one was the halter one, with the low back and waist belt.

Bran walked up and put his hand on her exposed back, tracing the large tattoo there. She turned and smiled up at him - she had makeup, too.

Also, there was a tiny, sleeping kitten, literally nestled between her breasts. She secured it with the apron.

Bran threw his head back and laughed. Meara blinked, but smiled.

“What is that?” Bran said, looking down. Meara grinned. “I don’t know if it’s a boy or girl, yet, so I haven’t picked a name.” She said, proudly. “Isn’t it cute?”

“No.” He said, looking back up at her. She maintained her smile. “Liar, you think it's cute.” She said sweetly.

“No cat, Meara.” He told her. “It is young and helpless now, but things will change once it’s old enough to listen to its instincts.”

“And if it does, then there are plenty of people in town who are willing to foster it.” She said stubbornly.

“Meara.” Bran ground out, right as the tiny kitten mewled. He glared down at it.

Meara turned the heat off the stove and gathered the platters of food. She’d pulled out her mother’s china, just for him. “I made you a welcome home breakfast.” She said, melting the tension with a flutter of her eyes. “I know you’re hungry.”

Bran sighed. He helped her gather the rest of the plates and they set at the table. Meara carefully pulled the kitten from her breasts and put it in a small basket, padded with what looked like a dark blue tee shirt. Bran paused. “Is that mine?” He asked, accusingly.

Meara situated the kitten with a smile. “I wanted to help it get to know you.” She said, sitting back down next to him. “And it stops crying when it smells you.”

Bran pinched the bridge of his nose. Meara piled his plate with food. “Come on, aren’t you happy to see me? You’ve been gone for a week, dealing with all your stubborn alphas.” She pouted. “Instead you want to be mad at me.”

Bran rolled his eyes. “Oh, stop.” He grumbled. He pulled her chair around the corner of the table and slid it next to him. His hand went under her skirt and pulled her leg over his lap; she slapped his arm. “Food first.” She gasped in mock indignation, scooting away. Bran leaned an elbow on the table and smirked at her.

The kitten mewled. Meara reached back and produced a small, oral syringe, propping it for the kitten to feed from. Bran watched with an unreadable expression. Inside, he was annoyed but also...tenderness.

“Already growing on you.” Meara murmured, returning to the table with a sly grin. He rolled his eyes.

* * *

Bran found the damn kitten under his desk.

The little black thing was latched onto one of the computer wires. At three weeks, it had no real teeth to do damage with, yet. But if this was a sign of times to come, he’d eat the damned thing before it could really do any damage.

He growled at the kitten, loud and frightening. The scrawny thing jumped and began to wail, stumbling blindly away from the wires. It bustled straight over to Bran, pressing itself against his leg. It stopped crying and rubbed its head over his pants.

Bran plucked the thing off the ground by the scruff of its neck. He marched from his study and to the library, where it had escaped from Meara’s care.

She was asleep, curled up on the loveseat with one arm hanging to the floor. Her hand was propped in the kitten’s basket, over one of Bran’s shirts - he still hadn’t gotten Meara to stop giving the damned thing his shirts. There was an open book next to the basket, lying forgotten. Meara’s brows were slightly furrowed. Worry seeped through the bond.

Bran sighed. Asil had mentioned he feared Meara was not sleeping in Bran’s absence. He put the kitten in the basket; it curled up with a yawn, laying its head on Meara’s fingers. Bran carefully drew Meara’s family quilt from the back of the loveseat and draped it over her. He knelt and laid a soft kiss on her cheek.

* * *

Meara stepped through the front door and saw Bran on the couch, fast asleep.

She grinned. Bran didn’t nap on the couch all that often. She quietly peeled off her shoes and tucked away her coat, slinking into the living room. Sneaking up on Bran, even while he was sleeping, was next to impossible.

But Bran didn’t wake. She pressed through the bond, checking; he was comfortable still sleeping because he knew it was just her. She smiled to herself and leaned over the back of the couch. Bran was sitting normally, upright with his legs propped up on the coffee table. His arms were crossed and his head was stretched back; his mouth was even slightly ajar. Like he would do every so often, there was a slight rumble of a snore, like a cat’s purr.

Of course, there was also a cat actually purring.

The kitten was curled up on his lap, soundly sleeping with him. Meara’s jaw dropped at the utter _adorableness_ of the situation, hands flying to her cheeks as she silently gasped. Bran was asleep on the couch because he didn’t want to disturb the kitten? How _precious_.

Meara pressed a soft, silent kiss to Bran’s cheek, before retreating to the library to give them some peace.

* * *

Bran woke as soon as she did, feeling her panic pulse through him right before before he heard her shriek. She sprang away from him, fighting to free herself from the tangle of the sheets, scuttling off the bed as the blind panic overtook her. She hit the floor, slamming hard on her rear. Bran was quickly out of the bed, springing over it to her.

She cried out again when he grabbed her, but he didn’t let go. This wasn’t the first time she’d woken from a nightmare like this. They’d learned the best way he could help her was for him to pull her from it as quickly as he could. Sometimes all he had to do was touch her skin; other times, he required a bit more force, sometimes even the push of power. But he never spoke; that always just made it worse.

Meara squirmed and shook fiercely, wailing to be free of his arms. Bran didn’t so much as budge, dragging her against his chest and caging her between his legs. Meara shoved against him, thrashing and kicking as he tightened his arms.

The kitten mewed. Meara went still.

The tiny thing peeked out of the basket on her nightstand, the compromise she’d reached with Bran when he refused to have it on the bed. It was three weeks old now - and a she, Meara discovered with the vet yesterday. She mewed, struggling to peer over the edge.

Meara blinked at the kitten, breathing hard. The kitten whined again and Meara slumped against Bran’s chest. She turned and pressed her face to his shoulder, staining his skin with her tears. She shivered. “I’m sorry.” She whispered.

Bran leaned his head against hers, shushing her. He reached, snagging the basket and bringing it down to them. He plucked the feeble kitten from the nest of his shirt and pressed it between their chests. Meara gave a whimper of a cry, reaching and scratching between the small thing’s ears.

Maybe the stupid cat wasn’t such a bad thing, Bran thought.

* * *

“I want to name her Jynx.” Meara said proudly, standing with her hands on her hips in his study. She had the kitten nestled on the makeshift shelf of her breasts, curled up in a rather peaceful slumber. She liked to put her there often; Bran found it endlessly amusing.

“Naming her something troublesome will make her troublesome.” He warned, leaning back and putting his feet on his desk.

Meara stroked the kitten’s fur; faint stripes were beginning to show, forming along the kitten’s sides in golden brown streaks. “It’s the first one that came to mind. I always go with the first name. Unless you have any suggestions?”

Bran shrugged. “Jynx it is.” He said.

Meara took Jynx in her hands and came around the desk. She proudly set the kitten on his lap; Jynx stirred, looked up at Bran, and mewled. She stretched her legs out and draped herself over his waist. “You adore her, you big softie.” Meara accused. Bran propped his chin in his hand, elbow on the arm of his chair. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, dear.”

Meara swooped in an kissed him. “You can’t lie to me.” She teased. “You think she’s cute, too.”

Bran scratched between Jynx’s ears with a sly grin. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, dear.”


End file.
